A Vampire Christmas Carol
by AChristmasToRemember
Summary: How important is one life or one death? In this vampire version of the classic Charles Dickens story, Edward discovers the answer to that question one memorable Christmas Eve night.


**Summary:** How important is one life or one death? In this vampire version of the classic Charles Dickens story, Edward discovers the answer to that question one memorable Christmas Eve night.  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> There is no pairing

**A****Vampire****Christmas****Carol**

**Prologue:**

I have endeavored in this ghostly little story to pose two questions for your consideration: How important is one life? How important is one death? Whatever your answers, may this ghostly story and it's equally ghostly lesson haunt your house this Christmas season.

**New****York****City,****December****24,****1930**

**Stave****One:****Edward****Masen****'****s****Ghost**

Edward Anthony Masen was dead. There was no doubt whatsoever about that. The register of his demise and burial was contained within the pages of some dusty book in a courthouse in Chicago as proof.

The creature that now strode purposely down the snow-covered sidewalks of New York City this Christmas Eve night certainly resembled Edward Masen in physical appearance, but in actuality, he was a mere ghost of his former self. That bright-eyed eager youth of so long ago was dead; his indomitable human spirit beaten into submission by the Spanish Influenza; his chance at eternal happiness in Heaven with his parents snatched cruelly from his grasp by a vampire's bite.

He was now Edward Cullen, the blood-thirsty resurrection of Edward Masen. His parents would have been so proud.

Edward snorted aloud at his own sarcastic wit, but there was no one to hear. The streets were nearly deserted. Prolonged periods of blinding snow and a teeth-chattering wind kept all but the most desperate indoors. Unfortunately, Edward was counted among the desperate.

He was hungry; starving, actually, and it was his own fault he'd had to venture out into the bleak winter night in search of food. He'd been denying his thirst for weeks; yet another juvenile act of rebellion. The rebel vampire rebelling against his own rebellion. How idiotic. Except now, he was paying the price for his idiocy. His throat was parched and aching; the fiery tongue of bloodlust licked at his insides and drove him forward into the blinding snow.

Edward was tired of being a rebel, and that realization made him angry. Were his convictions so fragile that they'd crumbled after a mere three years away from Carlisle? He'd been so proud of his own defiance; his courage in facing up to Carlisle and openly embracing the true nature of his being. In the delusional reality that often existed in the minds of the young, he'd professed to know the ultimate truths of their vampire existence. He'd brazenly told his creator that he was wrong to feed from animals; that refusing to acknowledge what they truly were was an act of cowardice. He'd walked away from his life as Carlisle Cullen's "son" into the welcoming arms of his monstrous instincts, and look where it had gotten him: hunting prey like an animal on some deserted street in the middle of a blinding snowstorm on Christmas Eve. _Joy__to__the__world._

Then all recriminations were forgotten as a form took shape ahead of him in the pouring snow; a potential victim. Food. Edward focused his mind on the ghostly figure and listened. What he heard in the man's mind made him smile. He was a thief, his stolen goods tucked away beneath his coat. He was gloating to himself at not getting caught and only thinking of the evening ahead of him, a Christmas Eve dinner in front of a warm fire. There was no shame or remorse in his thoughts, no concern for those from whom he'd just stolen. _Desperate__times__call__for__desperate__measures,_ the man thought. Edward agreed. The man wasn't as grievous a criminal as his usual victims, but Edward was desperate, too.

He shut down his mind and focused on his prey. Running his tongue over his venom-coated teeth in anticipation, Edward quickened his pace…

**Stave****Two:****The****First****of****the****Three****Spirits**

"Where are you going in such a rush?"

A figure appeared out of nowhere and blocked his way-a very familiar man in a dark suit. Edward quickly searched his fading human memories until he matched a memory with the face. It was his father and namesake, Edward Masen.

"Father?" he asked in disbelief.

The translucent figure nodded.

"You're dead. You shouldn't be here," Edward insisted after regaining his composure.

"I could say the same about _you,_" his father responded. "Now answer me. Where are you going in such a hurry?"

Edward considered the man standing before him. No heartbeat in his chest. No thoughts to read in his mind. It was as if he didn't exist. A ghost?

"I have an errand to run, and you're delaying me," Edward snapped impatiently. He had no time to waste on delusions. His dinner was getting away from him with every second that passed.

"Killing is an errand?" his father asked, one ghostly eyebrow arched in disbelief.

"Mind your own business!" Edward spat. The fatherly apparition dissolved when he walked through it. Hell-bent on catching up to the thief, Edward dashed down the slick sidewalk. Seconds later, his father reappeared in front of him, once again blocking his way.

"I ask you again, is killing this man your errand; your good deed this Christmas Eve night?" His father stared him down with his ghostly eyes. A glimmer of conscience stirred within Edward, which made him angry.

"Killing is a noble cause, dear Father," Edward answered smugly. "At least that's what you said when I expressed a desire to go fight in the war."

"Your memory fails you, my son," his father's spirit answered sadly. "I said that killing is sometimes necessary when one is _fighting_ for a noble cause. What noble cause drives you this night?"

Edward was not in the mood for a philosophical debate with an irritating specter masquerading as his dead father.

"Noble cause? I'm a vampire, and I'm thirsty. _That__'__s_ my noble cause! That's who I am now. You're not my father, and I'm not your son. Not anymore. Now, go away and leave me alone!"

Edward resumed the hunt. His long strides propelled him swiftly through the snow, but not swiftly enough. The spirit clung to his side like a nettle.

"What has this man done to deserve death at your hands?"

"I don't have to justify my actions to you, or to _anyone_, for that matter," Edward snapped arrogantly. "But, in the hopes that you'll go away and leave me in peace, I'll answer your question. He's a thief. I heard it in his thoughts. He steals from others without any remorse. I'm doing the world a favor by killing him, and satisfying my thirst in the process. Two birds with one stone."

"You're doing the world a favor?" His father looked up at him with great sadness. "How can you know the consequences of taking this man's life? Can you see into the future?"

Edward snarled angrily and pushed through the apparition. It dissolved into a cloud of icy fog. As he strode away, searching the whiteness ahead for his target, a ghostly, disembodied voice whispered in his ear:

"Consider your actions very carefully, my son. Very carefully…"

**Stave****Three:****The****Second****of****the****Three****Spirits**

****"Edward! Come here this instant!"

His attention was drawn away from his evening meal, which had just turned a corner ahead of him, to a figure hovering inside a doorway. He stopped and peered into the shadows. It was a woman dressed smartly as if on her way to church, her hair piled elegantly on top of her head, and a frown marring her lovely features.

"I cannot believe you're out in this weather without gloves!"

Even though his human memories were growing increasingly elusive, he knew that voice. It was his mother, Elizabeth Masen.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, although he was unsure why he'd even bothered. She wasn't real, just like her ghostly spouse.

"I could ask _you_ that same question," she said in the characteristic voice of a mother scolding her unruly son.

"I'll tell you what I told Fa-what I told the other one. I have an errand to run. I'm sorry, but I have to go." He turned his back on her and rushed up the sidewalk, turning the corner just in time to see his prey crossing the snowy street.

The apparition appeared in front of him just as he stepped a foot off of the curb. "So you have no time to talk with your mother?" she asked sadly, shaking her head. "You used to be such a dear boy, Edward. What's happened to you?"

Her attempt to make him feel badly for being rude failed miserably. If anyone had cause to feel guilty about _anything_ it was his mother…not _him. _

"What's happened to me?" Edward sputtered in outrage. "You asked a vampire to save my life! _That__'__s_ what happened to me, Mother!"

"I was just trying to keep you from dying," she insisted, her ghostly fingers clutching at his coat.

"Well, you didn't succeed! I died anyway. You delivered me into the hands of a vampire and your son was reborn a soul-less monster! I have no more time to talk because I'm thirsty, and the man who is going to die, and thereby satisfy my thirst, just crossed the street and is in danger of getting away. Goodbye, Mother."

Edward loped across the street, closing in on the man whose rich, velvety blood would soon be coursing down his throat and invigorating his vampire body. 

"You're going to kill him? Why?"

He snarled in anger at hearing her indignant voice behind him. He whirled around to find his ghost-mother glaring at him; her hands perched angrily on her hips. Someone, and he didn't know who, was determined that he was to go hungry this night.

"He's a thief, Mother. He takes what doesn't belong to him without guilt. His death will be a blessing to this city. Trust me; no one will miss him, certainly not his future victims."

His ethereal mother shook her head sadly. "Do you remember that Saturday that we went to the park? We stayed all day; picnicked on the grass, strolled through the forest and threw rocks into the lake. Do you remember, Edward?"

_What?_ Edward was fuming. Here he was standing in the middle of a snowstorm conversing with a spirit who wanted to talk about a day in the park. He didn't have time for this. He was in pain. His body was screaming for relief. He needed to feed. Edward turned on his heel without answering her, his eyes fixed on the back of his escaping victim who was now far ahead of him.

"Throwing rocks into the lake was your favorite thing about that day," she said, appearing once again in front of him. He lashed out in anger and dissolved her ghostly countenance with his hands, only to have her reappear in another spot.

"We had to practically drag you from the water's edge when it was time to go home."

Edward growled in helpless frustration. "Get to your point! I have no time to reminisce about the past!"

"Killing this man is like throwing a rock into a lake," she said softly.

A deep frown creased Edward's perfect marble features. Her words made no sense.

"You throw a rock into the water, it sinks and then it's gone. You kill this man, he dies, and then he's gone. But you must not forget about the ripples that spread outward from that point of impact. This man's death will _not_ be an isolated incident."

Her ghostly figure drifted away from him, as if pulled by an invisible string.

Her final warning was but a whisper in the wailing winter wind.

"There will be ripples, my son."

**Stave****Four:****The****Third****of****the****Three****Spirits**

****"Can ya spare a dime, mister?"

A young boy with black hair was squatted down on the snowy sidewalk, holding a tin cup in his hand and looking up at him with hopeful dark eyes.

"No, I can't," Edward snapped rudely. Whoever was determined to ruin his evening repast was now resorting to using a child, but Edward wasn't fooled. This scrawny boy-ghost in the threadbare clothes and bare feet was no more real than Edward's parents had been.

"I ain't a grifter," the boy insisted. "It's for food."

"Go home to your parents where you belong." Edward walked past the boy, more determined than ever to finally overpower the thief and satisfy his gnawing hunger.

"Ain't got no parents!" the boy shouted at his back. "No daddy, anyways. Ain't got much of a mommy either."

Edward stopped in his tracks as a sudden wave of sympathy washed through him. Where had that come from? He turned around. The boy was still in a crouch, shaking his empty cup and peering down into it, like money would magically appear inside.

"Where is your father?"

"Dead."

"Your mother?"

"Gone crazy."

Edward's eyes narrowed. Why was he even asking these questions? This boy was obviously just another cloud of vapor sent by some unknown presence to disrupt his plans for the evening. The people this boy spoke of didn't exist. This was all a delusion. But what was its purpose?

"You need to find shelter or you'll freeze to death," Edward said, looking down at the boy's bare bony feet poking out of the snow.

"Don't matter if you freeze to death if you ain't got a future anyways. Right, mister?"

A chill ran down Edward's spine. "What do you mean?"

The boy shrugged sadly. "I ain't gonna have a life. I'm supposed to be fourteen, but I died when I was twelve. Doc blamed it on the Great Depression. He said it was not having enough food that brought on the fever, but Mommy said it was Daddy's fault for having the gall to die when we needed him the most."

Edward frowned. The conversation had taken a decidedly surrealistic turn.

"How did your father die?"

"He was murdered on Christmas Eve, 1930, not far from here. They never caught who did it. Mommy said that when they found his body, he had a whole bunch of food inside his coat that he'd stolen for our dinner. We was starving to death, mister, but my Daddy tried to get us food whenever he could."

Edward gasped and stumbled back away from the ghostly boy in horror. The man he'd been hoping to kill this night…could he be this boy's father?

"What's wrong, mister?"

Edward swallowed the venom that had pooled in his mouth. "Nothing. Nothing's wrong," he said quietly, but that wasn't the truth. _Everything_ was wrong. 

The snow had stopped. The wind had temporarily ceased its relentless howling. Edward and the tattered boy stared at each other in the deathly stillness of a new snowfall.

"I wasn't meant to die, mister," the boy said, breaking the eerie silence. "I was supposed to grow up, get married to a nice girl named Helen, and have a little boy of my own named Charlie, but that ain't gonna happen now."

Edward remembered his mother's ghostly warning: 'There will be ripples, my son.' He now understood with crystal clarity what his ghost-parents had been trying to tell him. This one life he was about to take was important. This man's death would have repercussions that had never even occurred to Edward. This pitifully sad boy with the now non-existent future was proof of that.

Edward felt physically sick for the first time since he'd opened his eyes as a vampire. How many lives had he ruined since he'd embarked on this silly rebellious crusade? How many miseries had rippled outward from his senseless acts of violence? How many mistakes had he made these past three years?

Edward realized at that very moment that Carlisle had been right, and he had been wrong. There was no justification for killing humans, not when there was an alternative at hand. Using the excuse that he was a monster and that it was useless to fight against his instincts was the pathetic, arrogant ravings of a youthful idiot.

"Go home to your family," Edward said softly.

"I told you, I ain't got one, mister!"

"Trust me, you have one now," Edward said, extending his hand to help the ghostly boy to his feet. "Go home where you belong. Your father isn't dead, and your mother isn't crazy. You'll meet your Helen and have your own little boy named Charlie. Go home, son."

The boy's eyes filled with ghostly tears. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," Edward said. There wasn't a gnawing pain or a fiery thirst strong enough to make him take another human life ever again. 

The boy smiled and swiped at his eyes. "Thank you." He started to walk away, but then stopped and turned. "What's your name, mister?"

"Edward Anthony Masen Cullen," he answered. "And yours?"

"Geoffrey Swan."

**January****1931~**

**Stave****Five:****The****End****of****It**

Edward stood in the darkness, staring at the closed doors, willing his feet to move forward, but nothing was happening. He was frightened; too scared to walk up the steps; too afraid to rap on the door. Would he be welcomed or turned away? If the door was slammed in his face, he didn't know what he would do. His future hinged on this single moment in time. He steeled himself and slowly took each stair until he was left standing a foot in front of the doors. He raised his fist, ready to knock, when they suddenly swung open.

"Edward, you're home."

He dropped his head in shame. "I know that I don't deserve to be here, but I don't have anywhere else to go."

Carlisle smiled and embraced him. "Don't be absurd. As long as I'm alive, you'll always have a place to call home."

"I was wrong, Carlisle," he said softy. "I'm so sorry."

"We all make mistakes. The key is to learn from them. Welcome home, my son."

**Epilogue:**

So tell me, dear reader, the answers to my questions.

How important is one life?

How important is one death?

** The End **


End file.
